


Echoes from the Past

by Schattengestalt



Series: Shifting [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, Genderfluid Sherlock, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Kissing, M/M, Misgendering, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5915026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft visits Bakerstreet to collect his debt. His request appears easy enough at first, but it reawakens painful memories, Sherlock has buried long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expressing Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry for my lack of updates and posts, but university kept me busy. Now, I only have one more exam to go and I decided it was time for a sequel to A subtle Shift.^^  
> It's now part of a series and I intend to post another part in the future.
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think of this! :)

### Expressing 

They had to leave in an hour.

 

John checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror one last time and - content with what he saw - nodded to himself. He wouldn't win any beauty contests today, but his hair was newly cut, his face freshly shaven and he appeared respectable in his blue button-down shirt and his best pair of jeans. Still, John couldn't help himself, when he ran his fingers through his hair one more time, before forcing his feet to carry him out of the bathroom. Otherwise, he was certain that he would spend the next fifty minutes in front of the mirror and doubt himself.

 

Hell, John released a heavy sight, he couldn't remember the last time, he had been so nervous. Not even when the plane - which had brought him and his men to Afghanistan - had taken off, had his stomach quivered with nerves like it did now... or had been doing for the last week, to be correct.

 

John leaned back against the wall, outside of Sherlock's and his bedroom, and took a steadying breath to calm down. He told himself that there was no reason to be nervous, but it didn't help. It hadn't helped, since that faithful day, one week ago, when Mycroft had paid them a visit.

"What do you want?"

"Tss, is this any way to greet your brother, Sherlock? Mummy would be very disappointed by your behavior."

John hurried into the living-room, when he heard the slightly raised voices to prevent any bloodshed. One never knew what would happen, if the Holmes' brothers were left alone for more than a minute.

"Ah, John. How nice to see you." John accepted Mycroft's outstretched hand and ignored the calculating glance that swept over him at the same time. Certainly, Mycroft could read from the wrinkles of his shirt and the way his hairs stuck out in all directions, that Sherlock and he had spent a passionate evening on the couch, before they had moved to the bedroom - for more passionate hours. It should have bothered John that nothing - not even his sex life - was safe from the preying eyes of the elder Holmes, but it didn't... or at least, not as much as it should.

Maybe, John had gotten used to not having any secrets, since moving in with Sherlock or - and that appeared far more lightly to him - he just didn't care what Mycroft thought of him. Considering that the elder Holmes was the head of more security services than anyone else even knew existed and held the future of whole nations in his hands, it probably wasn't wise to dismiss Mycroft's opinion of him like this. Nevertheless, if the opinion of any Holmes mattered to John, then it was the opinion of the glaring, young man, who seemed to consider stabbing his brother with the bow of his violin.

"Can I offer you something, Mycroft?" John inquired politely and stepped behind Sherlock's chair to place a hand on the shoulder of his lover. The tendons of Sherlock's neck were tense and John squeezed gently, before he turned his attention back to Mycroft once more. The lips of the elder Holmes twitched minutely at the exchange between the two men and John felt Sherlock grew even tenser.

"You are here to collect your debt," Sherlock spat at his brother and it was only thanks to John's hand on his shoulder that Sherlock didn't jump up to pace. "What is it this time? An international scandal? A terroristic organization? A security breach? Or has one of our noble and rich ten thousands lost their silky handkerchief?"

John snickered at the last one, even while he hoped that Mycroft hadn't brought them a case that included Sherlock going undercover among the Noblesse of England. Not that Sherlock wouldn't be able to pull it off, but... it would end in disaster as soon as one of these posh gits insulted Sherlock in any way. His lover could take insults from the Yarders - more or less gracefully - or from people of any other class, but Sherlock lost his temper particularly fast, when he was insulted by members of the upper class. John guessed that these reactions were somehow linked to Sherlock's years at university. Hell only knew what John would have done if he had been surrounded by people like Sebastian Wilkes.

"I refuse." John was startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock's angry hiss and Mycroft's exasperated sigh. Obviously, he had missed part of their conversation. "Really, Sherlock, I would have expected you to honor a debt, instead of making such a fuss about a trifle."

John shuffled uncomfortable behind Sherlock's chair. It had been his idea to ask Mycroft to get them a table for two at Alain Ducasse's, after Sherlock had told John about his gender identity - while wearing a dress - a couple of weeks ago. Therefore, it would only be fair if John paid the debt they owed Mycroft. At least, if it lay in his power to do so.

"Ah, always the gentleman." John scowled at Mycroft for reading his mind - or what passed for it for the elder Holmes. "If you had listened to our conversation, you would know that you are an essential part to my plans for Sherlock." Before John could inquire what all of this was about, Sherlock had sprung to his feet and rounded on his brother. Teeth bared like an aggressive dog... or like a cat, which's fur you had brushed in the wrong direction. "I don't have the time to pay a visit to Mummy. I`m busy." John blinked at that. Had he heard correctly, Mycroft wanted Sherlock to visit his parents? To John, that didn't sound like such a terrible request.

"Don`t be tedious, Sherlock." Mycroft tapped his foot once, but otherwise remained unmoved by Sherlock's aggressive posture. "You don't have any cases on and our parents would love to see you and meet your partner." John gulped at that - he hated meeting the parents of his lovers - but he still forced his legs to move and carry him to stand next to Sherlock. "It doesn`t sound like such a bad idea," John whispered in Sherlock's ear, but his lover only glared at him. "You wouldn't talk like this if you knew that Mummy chased away the last three men I brought home with me."

"Please, Sherlock, that was years ago and I must say that your taste has improved since you brought this imbecile, Victor, home with you." John ignored the heat that rose to his cheeks at Mycroft's backhanded compliment and instead slung his arms around Sherlock's waist and placed his hand on his lover's hip. Some of the tension drained from Sherlock's body at the contact and a small smile flickered across John's face at that.

"I promise you that nothing your mother says or does will drive me away, Sherlock." John noted that his guess about the root of Sherlock's fears had been correct, when his lover raised an eyebrow at him and sent John and disbelieving look. "How can you know that, now?"

John merely shrugged. "Because I know that the only thing that can keep me from you is the Reaper and even he couldn't keep me away for long." For a second, John believed that he had said too much. That Sherlock would be overwhelmed by such a sentimental declaration and flee their flat as fast as possible. Instead, when their eyes met, Sherlock's were blown wide with wonder and amazement. "John," he breathed and it sounded like a vow, before soft lips claimed John's in a sweet kiss.

John poured all his feelings for his amazing, mad lover into the kiss and the innocent contact would have led to other - not so innocent - activities, if a discrete cough hadn't reminded them of Mycroft's presence. John growled quietly and then smirked, when he noted the sick look on the elder Holmes' face. Obviously, their display had been much too sentimental for Mycroft's liking.

"Don't you have something more important to do than watch us? Start a few wars or dispose of a Head of State." The corners of Mycroft's mouth didn't even twitch as he collected his umbrella from where it leaned against John's chair and nodded at them both. "Since we have established that John won't break it off with you, I expect you to be ready to leave at nine, next Friday morning. Mummy is looking forward to seeing you both."

John's arm around Sherlock's waist tightened and prevented him from lunging himself at his elder brother, when Mycroft passed them on his way out. "John. Sherlock." All John could do was nod at Mycroft, before Sherlock pressed John against the next wall and claimed his lips in a heated kiss.

John didn't doubt that it was partly to spit his brother, but since Sherlock was unbelievable hot, when he was a little angry, he didn't resist his lover's eager hands and lips. They would have enough time to talk about the visit to Sherlock's parents later.

 

John grinned a little at the memory. In the end, he had been able to convince Sherlock that a day spent with his parents wouldn't be so bad by demonstrating him just how much John loved him and that no one would be able to convince him to leave Sherlock.

 

A sappy smile threatened to take over John's face, when he reminded himself that he should better go and check on Sherlock to make sure that his lover hadn't forgotten that they had to leave in forty minutes. He entered their bedroom without knocking and sighed in relief, when he found Sherlock completely dressed in trousers, shirt and jacket, ready to leave right away.

 

"You look fantastic," John breathed as he stepped farther into the room. Really, he loved how this tight trousers clung to Sherlock's arse. It reminded John of last night, when he had grabbed Sherlock's buttocks with both hands, while his lover had thrust into him over and over again. He licked his lips at the thought and shifted his weight a little to feel the exquisite ache in the lower part of his body, which was proof of Sherlock's desire for him.

 

"No, I don`t."

 

The forlorn sounding voice of his lover startled John from his X-rated daydream and he only then noticed that Sherlock's wardrobe was wide open and his lover was staring longingly at a cornflower-blue dress. Two weeks ago, this would have startled John, but now he merely smiled and stepped next to Sherlock to retrieve the dress from the wardrobe. It was a simply summer dress in the nicest shade of blue, John had ever seen. There was a small v-neck at the front and the skirt was wide and floating. Long enough to reach as far as Sherlock's knees, John thought and handed the dress to his lover. "You will look lovely in this, sweetheart," John praised and breathed a gentle kiss to Sherlock`s cheek.

 

Startled blue eyes met his and John was momentarily stunned at the vulnerability he saw in Sherlock's gaze. "You think so? It doesn't come with inserted pads and I don't have the time to dress up like last time. I won`t pass as a woman and..." Sherlock`s voice quivered and John cursed everyone, who had ever made Sherlock feel like she had to pass as anything.

 

"I don`t care about that. If you identify as a woman today, then you are a woman today, Sherlock and... the dress is really lovely." It was the right thing to say, as Sherlock's small smile proved, when she placed the dress carefully on the bed and started unbuttoning her shirt. "It's a present from Mycroft," she muttered and John laughed quietly, certain that this was the main reason why Sherlock had hesitated to wear the dress today.

 

John left the room to allow her some privacy to get ready until they had to leave in half an hour. He was already looking forward to seeing her in this beautiful dress and he was also curious how Mycroft would look, when he realized that his sister was wearing his present.

 

OOO

 

The dress was beautiful.

 

Sherlock smiled at her reflection in the mirror and admired how the skirt fluttered with every movement of her hips. It wasn't even so bad that the dress didn't have any pads sewed in or that she hadn't had the time to prepare a bra to create the illusion of breasts. The small v-neck highlighted her sharp collarbones and the woolen fabric hugged her chest so tight that it felt like a second skin. Yes, Sherlock nodded to herself, she rather liked how she looked today. The blue eye shadow she had chosen brought out her eyes and some rouge underlined her otherwise pale face. Only... she picked at her curls and sighed. They weren't as fluffy as she would have liked, but there was nothing she could do about this, since Mycroft was supposed to arrive any minute now. They would drive to their parents' house in one of Mycroft's black vehicles - the same he loved to use when he had to kidnap Sherlock's friends - and then spent the day together with Mummy and Dad.

 

Sherlock swallowed nervously at the thought. The visit to her parents' house was the main reason why she had hesitated to put on a dress this morning. As far as Sherlock knew, neither Mummy nor Dad were aware of her gender identity and she didn't have any way of judging how they would react to seeing her in a dress.

 

Well, Sherlock was fairly certain that Dad wouldn't be too shocked about it, since he had always taken the eccentrics of his children in stride, without giving them the feeling that they weren't normal in any way. No, Sherlock was rather worried about the reaction of Mummy. She was a remarkable woman - no need to question that - but certain outdated views of how things were supposed to be were still ingrained in her thinking. It had certainly taken her a long time to accept that Sherlock preferred men and after months of screaming and accusations, Sherlock hadn`t seen why she should tell her about her gender identity. Not only would it have made it even more complicated for her mother to grasp Sherlock's sexuality - which Sherlock didn't bother labeling anymore - but she might also have freaked out and... Sherlock hadn't had the strength to handle any more fights at that time.

 

Still... Sherlock lifted her chin and met the determined eyes of her own reflection. She wasn't alone anymore. She had John on her side. And she also wasn't a dependent teenager anymore, she was her own woman and if Mummy didn't accept her, then it wasn't Sherlock`s fault. With that thought in mind, Sherlock applied her lipstick and then reached for her handbag, when she heard heavy steps moving up the staircase to their flat. It appeared like Mycroft's diet wasn't working out well after all. Smirking slightly, Sherlock hurried out of the bedroom. She was eager to greet her elder brother to memorize his reaction to seeing Sherlock wearing the dress, he had given to her.

 

OOO

 

"Apparently, I'll have to notify Mummy that we will be later than planned."

 

Sherlock frowned at Mycroft's statement. There was no apparent reason for them being late. John was dressed and finished, Sherlock was ready as well and Mycroft didn't look like he had gotten more important business to handle today. Sherlock's eyes swept over her brother, taking in his tree piece suit and his perfectly primped hair. The hand, which held his bloody umbrella, was steady and there were no crumbs on his tie, which had been an indicator for a hasty meal and an international crisis before.

 

"You should better start re-dressing, brother mine, or we won't be treated to Mummy's fantastic roulades, today." The words struck Sherlock like a lightning and she clenched her fists at her side to prevent Mycroft from noticing their trembling. "I don't see your point, Mycroft. My dress is perfectly acceptable for an informal family gathering."

 

Cold grey eyes swept over her body and Sherlock watched with a sinking feeling in her gut how Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head disapprovingly. "You can't be serious, Sherlock. A nice pair of trousers and a blouse - if you absolutely must - but you can't show up like this at our parents' house."

 

The cold and dismissing tone, hurt more than Sherlock would ever admit. Especially, since Mycroft had never talked to her like this before. He had never tried to force her into wearing trousers, when she had felt like wearing a dress. Hell, Mycroft had even gone shopping with her once and bought her new shoes, when Sherlock had been working on a case for him in... Paris!

 

The breath hitched in her throat, when Sherlock realised that Mycroft had never been seen with her in public, where someone might recognize them. He had never encouraged Sherlock to go out, when she identified and expressed herself as a woman and...

 

"Sherlock looks absolutely stunning and I can't imagine why she shouldn't turn up at your parents' house in such a beautiful dress." Sherlock's eyes snapped to John, who had moved to stand next to her and was now glaring at Mycroft. "I don't know what your problem is, since I know that you bought the dress for Sherlock, but I won't listen to you insulting your own sister." A faint smile twitched at the corner of Sherlock's lips, when John slung his arm around her waist and drew her against his body. At least her lover was on her side, since it was obvious from Mycroft's calculated smile that he wasn`t impressed by John's words at all. "It's good to see for myself that my brother is in such good hands, but you don't know our parents, John and therefore you should leave the judgment of what's acceptable and what isn't to me."

 

The arm around Sherlock's waist stiffened and John's voice hardened, until it was the voice of Captain Watson, when he addressed Mycroft. "You are right, I don't know your family, but if your parents aren't ready to accept their own children the way they are, then I don't think I even want to meet them anymore. And," Sherlock's eyes widened at John's cutting voice. "I don't want you to ever refer to Sherlock as your brother again, when it's obvious to you that she is your sister today."

 

Under any other circumstances, the glaring match between Mycroft and John would have been highly amusing, but Sherlock didn't pay it much attention. There was too much going through her head as that she could be bothered to deduce who was going to win that battle of wills. For one thing, Sherlock had just realised that her brother might not be as accepting of her gender identity as she had thought. Otherwise, he wouldn't have used the wrong form of address and tried to force her to express herself as a man today. The realisation hurt and Sherlock was only able to remain in the same room with her brother, because the warmth of John's body was seeping into hers and reassuring her of the fact that at least one person on the planet loved her the way she was.

 

Mycroft and she had their disagreements and Sherlock truly hated him sometimes, but even she had had to admit that she loved her brother at the same time, even when he was especially annoying. She had never doubted that Mycroft felt any other way, but now... Sherlock wasn't so sure anymore if that was true. If her brother couldn't even stand her wearing the dress, he had given to Sherlock for her birthday, then...

 

"You are right, Doctor Watson, my apologies."

 

Sherlock's head snapped up as she stared at her brother, who was looking like he had just swallowed a whole lemon. Still not used to admitting his faults, then.

 

"I'm not the one you have wronged. You owe an apology to Sherlock."

 

Dear God, Sherlock thought, when John's arm tightened around her waist, how did she deserve such a wonderful man? And how, she thought angrily at herself a second later, did it come that she allowed John to speak on her behalf, when she was more than capable of taking on Mycroft on her own?

 

"He doesn't have to apologize," Sherlock jumped in, when her brother opened his mouth. "It would only be an insincere phrase, since it's obvious that my dear brother meant everything he just said." Sherlock directed her gaze at Mycroft and was relieved, when her voice emerged without a stutter. "You didn't have to amuse me for all these years. If you don't take my gender identity seriously, you only had to say so, instead of buying me nice dresses, shoes and handbags, every once in a while. But no," Sherlock allowed some mockery to color her tone. "You couldn't risk that, since you knew that you might need me from time to time to solve a case for you. I assure you, that I'll never work for you again and if you try to interfere with my life, because of this decision, then..."

 

"Stop, Sherlock! Just stop!"

 

Sherlock blinked up at her brother, who had lifted one hand in surrender, with a defeated look on his face. A look that suited him very nicely, Sherlock decided grimly, but still allowed Mycroft to voice whatever words were left between them. "It's not... God, of course I accept you as a woman, I just thought," Mycroft scrubbed his face with one hand and a deep sigh fell from his lips. "You know how Mummy is and I didn't want her to pick on you again for something that's as much a part of you as your curly hair. That`s why..."

 

"Wait a second, you treated Sherlock like shit and gave her the impression that her feelings don't matter, because you are afraid of what your mother is going to say? How old are you again, Mycroft Holmes?" Sherlock almost snickered at John's words, but forced herself to keep a straight face, while her eyes roamed over Mycroft's features. Her brother was a master at masking his feelings, but it appeared like he was honest. Sherlock allowed herself a small sigh of relief, although she wasn't completely convinced yet that Mycroft wasn't just playing one of his games It would be just like him to manipulate her like this... or try manipulating her, since he wouldn't be successful this time, if Sherlock noticed so much as a sign of dishonesty.

 

"So," Sherlock started and took strength from John's warm weight against her body. "You decided on bullying me into wearing trousers, because you wanted to protect me from Mummy's vicious tongue, did I get that right?" Next to her, John growled darkly and Sherlock wondered for a second how his parents had reacted to finding out that Harry was a lesbian. They had never talked about it, but judging from John's protective streak, it was safe to assume that they hadn't reacted well to this revelation. No wonder then, that John had taken offense at how Mycroft had behaved towards her. Sherlock's eyes shifted to her brother, who would appear unmoved to a stranger, but if you had grown up with him, it was easy to spot the signs of Mycroft's discomfort. For example, the way he tapped his foot on the floorboard every ten seconds or how he turned his umbrella with a slight twitch of his right hand.

 

Nevertheless, his voice was perfectly calm and bare of any emotions, when he spoke. "You got it correct Sherlock and I must admit that I... miscalculated a little, since I wasn't prepared for your appearance." Mycroft's lips twitched as if he had swallowed something disgusting and Sherlock smirked inwardly at how much her brother hated admitting his mistakes. "I should have gone about this business differently, but..." Mycroft straightened to his full height and directed his cool gaze at Sherlock. "Now that we understand each other, I'm sure you can change your clothes, so that we can be on time..."

 

"No!" Sherlock shook her head and glared at her brother at the same time. She understood now, why Mycroft had acted like he had, but that didn't mean that she would bend herself to please him. "I'm going to wear this dress and Mummy will have to accept it or..."

 

"Or what?" Mycroft interrupted her with a pointy look. "Are you going to run away from home again and live on the streets for days, because Mummy was furious about finding out that you prefer men?"

 

Sherlock flinched back at the remainder of that day. Long suppressed feelings resurfaced, even as she scowled at her brother.

 

"I won't allow you to live out your perverse feelings as long as you live here!"

Sherlock ducked, when his mother threw a vase at him that shattered to pieces against the wall. He had known that his mother wouldn't be thrilled at the prospect of having a gay son, but he hadn't anticipated her fury. Maybe, it would have been wiser to keep his sexuality a secret or at least to wait until his Dad was back. Sherlock knew that his Dad would have been able to calm Mummy down and that he wouldn't have acted like this. Like Sherlock was... some kind of disgusting parasite.

He swallowed against the hot pain, which was located in his chest, while his mother rounded on him again. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but until you see sense, you won't leave this house, unless you have to go to school. I won't allow you to taint the good name of our family by becoming such an... abomination."

A dry sob hitched in Sherlock's throat and he clenched his fists at his side to prevent the tears from falling, even when they burned in his eyes. No, he shouldn't have told his mother about his preferences, but Sherlock had really wanted to bring Oliver home with him and... It didn't matter anymore, his mother had made it clear what she thought of him and Sherlock wouldn't beg her to change her view of him. And most certainly, he wouldn't allow her to control his life. He was sixteen after all, old enough to take his life in his own hands.

Concentrating on his breathing, it took Sherlock every ounce of strength to glare at his mother. "If you are so worried about the good name of the family, then I'll gladly leave, so that you don't have to feel ashamed of me! You won't dictate my life, I won't let you!"

If possible the face of his mother darkened even farther and Sherlock knew that he had to be fast, if he wanted to leave the house, before she was able to call the servants for help. He all but bolted from the room, grabbed his coat and scarf and was down the stairs of the mansion, before his mother even had the chance to call out after him.

Sherlock sprinted down the gateway and down the road, until he couldn't see the house anymore. Only then, he allowed himself to sink down behind some bushes - hidden away from the street - and to cry his heart out.

OOO

Sherlock sputtered when the man came into his mouth. The taste was terrible and he would have retched if there had been anything left in his stomach. His discomfort only earned him a laugh from the man as he zipped up his trousers and patted Sherlock's head in an almost fatherly way. "You are a fast study. As promised, you can stay in the flat for tonight and if you want to stay longer... I`m sure you will come up with a good payment for me."

Sherlock didn't dare looking up, until he heard the click of the door and heavy steps on the stairs. Only, when he was sure that the man wouldn't come back, he allowed himself to dash to the bathroom and heave into the toilet. Bile was the only substance left in his stomach and after five minutes, Sherlock sagged back against the dirty wall and pressed trembling hands to his lips. He was disgusted with himself. He felt tainted... dirty, but there was no way of undoing his decision to give head to a stranger in exchange for a roof over his head. Sherlock was probably lucky that the man had held true to his promise and had left him alone for the night or that he hadn't demanded other things of him.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, when he remembered what the man had implied he would want if Sherlock decided on staying longer than for one night. He had never had penetrative sex with anyone before - and had only exchanged a few handjobs with Oliver so far - and Sherlock really didn't want it to happen with a total stranger. He didn't want to sell his... body. When he had thought about sex, he had always imagined it to happen with someone, he loved - or at least cared for and trusted - and not because he needed somewhere warm to stay. Of course, he could go back to live in the streets, but a couple of nights of trying to sleep there had taught Sherlock that it wasn't a safe place for a teenage boy without friends. If some older woman hadn't smashed a glass bottle on the head of his attacker, Sherlock would have been raped of his dignity and probably his life on the dirty ground of a back road.

A shudder ran through Sherlock at that thought and he curled into himself farther. It didn't seem to matter what he did. Wherever he went, he had to give something up to be allowed to live in peace. Either his whole identify - if he went back home - or the dream of having his first time with someone, who mattered to him. The decision wasn't really that hard, Sherlock thought determined, even when nausea rose again, as he thought about the next day.

 

"Sherlock would have ended up as a prostitute in the streets, if Dad hadn't come home from his business trip and used all of his contacts to find her. She had already found herself a punter."

 

"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped and she didn't even pay any mind to the fact that Mycroft was using her correct pronouns. All her attention was focused on John, who had gone as white as a sheet at Mycroft's words, his fingers digging painfully in Sherlock's side, while John processed the new information about her.

 

A tremor ran down Sherlock's spine as she imagined what John had to think of her now. Selling her body to a stranger... Sherlock was sure that it went against John's morals. Although, nothing had happened - besides that one disgusting blow job - Sherlock had to admit that she would have been prepared to give away even more of herself if her Dad hadn't found her in time. He had fought with Mummy and had told her that she was free to leave if she couldn't stand to be in the house anymore, but that he wouldn't allow her to make Sherlock feel badly about herself. Years of strained silence and accusations had followed, but by the time Sherlock had finished university, her mother had come around. Or at least, she did her best to pretend that it didn't bother her anymore that Sherlock preferred men, although she hadn't hold back her remarks, when Sherlock had been foolish enough to bring his lovers home.

 

Still, in comparison these years didn't appear as terrible as John's silence to Sherlock right now. She wondered if that was it. If she had finally found the one thing that would drive John away. After all, now that he knew that Sherlock had once sold herself to a stranger, he might start to question if she hadn't done it again, while she had been using - Sherlock hadn't - and the suggestion alone would be enough to taint his love for her. John was a man with high morals after all. He wouldn't condone that his lover had sold her body at one time during her life and... John would leave her and then Sherlock would be... alone, once more.

 

Her breath hitched in her throat, when a burning chain of pain chocked her chest and she was barely able to hold herself upright, when John's arm fell away from around her waist. Sherlock forced her eyes to follow his movements across the room, to deduce from the length of his steps how long it would take him to leave the flat - to leave her. Obviously though, she had missed an important clue, since John stopped right in front of Mycroft and Sherlock only registered the furious expression on his face, before a well aimed fist connected with her brother's jaw.

 

"You fucking arsehole!" John snarled, as he grabbed Mycroft's tie and dragged him to the door. "You don`t have any right to talk about Sherlock like this and we certainly won't come with you to visit your parents, after what I have just learned about them. Feel free to send the bill from the restaurant to me!" With this, John threw the door in Mycroft's face and Sherlock was left to stare in wonder at John, who stalked determined through the room and enfolded her in his arms a moment later.

 

Seconds ticked by, in which Sherlock stood completely frozen, trying to come to terms with what had just happened, until she finally got her arms to cooperate with her and returned John's embrace. Sherlock relaxed, when her beloved's scent surrounded her and dared to believe that everything would sort itself out.


	2. More than Acceptance

### More than Acceptance

How did Mycroft dare to treat Sherlock like this?

 

John was still seething with rage, when he closed his arms around Sherlock and pressed her tight against his body. Needless to say that his anger wasn't directed at the precious woman - who was still trembling in his embrace - but at her brother and the rest of her stupid family. Hitting Mycroft had only taken the edge of John's anger and if his mind hadn't kicked in, in the last minute, Sherlock's elder brother would have left their flat with graver injuries than a mere split lip.

 

John tightened his arms around Sherlock and breathed in her unique scent, trying - and mostly failing - to regain control of his emotions. He had already been angry, when Mycroft had refused to use the correct pronouns, when he had talked to Sherlock earlier. Still, John would have been able to forgive this act of manipulation, because he was aware of how much the Holmes' brothers liked to manipulate others. John would have even understood it if Mycroft had wanted to break Sherlock's gender identity gently to their parents, since not everyone even knew about genderfluid people. Really, John would have been fine with all of the above, but he couldn't forgive Mycroft for bribing Sherlock into visiting their parents, when there was so much history between Sherlock and her mother.

 

John exhaled slowly. He had thought his parents had reacted badly to Harry's coming-out, but what John had gathered from Mycroft's comments and Sherlock's reaction, they had been the most acceptant people in comparison to Mummy. Yes, John still remembered the screaming matches between Harry and their father, while their mother had cried quietly in a corner of the room and asked herself over and over again, where she had gone wrong in Harry's upbringing. It had been the most horrible summer holidays of John's life, but neither their mother nor their father had ever raised a hand to Harry or threatened to throw her out. No, in the end they had just pretended that Harry's newest girlfriend was just one of her friends and had refused to talk about it. Admittedly, by far not the best course of actions, but better than...

 

"God, Sherlock," John breathed into her neck. "You should have told me!" His words had much more impact than John would have thought possible. Sherlock flinched as if he had slapped her and brought her hands up to push John away, as she stumble back against her armchair. For a second, John was worried that she would faint. Sherlock was always pale, but her skin appeared almost translucent right now, mixed with an unhealthy shade of grey. "I... I didn't think that it was... important."

 

Dear God, how much John hated the vulnerable and insecure tone of Sherlock's voice. She shouldn't feel like this, when she was with him. Hell, no scratch that, Sherlock should never feel vulnerable or insecure. It didn't suit her and John hated Mycroft even more for putting fear in Sherlock's eyes. Was Sherlock afraid that he would scold her for running away from her parents' house years ago? John frowned slightly at that idea. Admittedly, it hadn't been Sherlock's best idea, but it certainly wasn't John's place to judge, especially since he didn't doubt that Harry would have run away from home as well, if their parents had given her more of a reason for it. 

 

In the end, John couldn't quite picture why there was fear lurking in Sherlock's expressive eyes and he just settled for focusing on their conversation for now. "Of course, it's important." John sighed quietly and took a step towards Sherlock. "Did you think, it wouldn't matter to me, only because it was years ago?"

 

John had intended his words to be soothing. In all honesty, Sherlock should at least find some small comfort in the knowledge that John wouldn't have agreed to them visiting Sherlock's parents, if he had known about her mother's attitude towards her. Therefore, John watched in horror, when Sherlock's face blanched even farther - he hadn't thought that possible - and she grabbed the back of the chair as she swayed.

 

"You are going to leave me, then." It wasn't a question and judging from the forlorn look in Sherlock's eyes, she truly believed her statement to be correct.

 

John shook his head in disbelief, trying to figure out at which point he had given the impression that he wanted to end their relationship. The only logical conclusion that sprung to his mind was that they were just heading into a monumental misunderstanding. It happened from time to time, when Sherlock's mind was thousand steps ahead of his own and had created a hundreds of possible outcomes for any given situation. John had given up long ago to understand how Sherlock's mind worked, but he realised that it was important this time to talk everything through calmly, before one of them got hurt.

 

Slowly - as if he was approaching a frightened animal - John crossed the space between them and placed a hand on Sherlock's back to lead her to the couch. She didn't resist at all and kept her eyes downcast, which was even more worryingly than if she had started hurling things at him. "I`ll get us some tea and then you can tell me how you got the stupid idea in your head that I would ever leave you." John underlined his words with a kiss to her forehead and then hurried into the kitchen to get the water boiling - cursing Mycroft and his stupid attitude inwardly, whenever he glanced at Sherlock's miserable figure on the couch.

 

OOO

 

John was going to leave her.

 

The thought repeated itself like a mantra in Sherlock's head, while she kept staring at the carpet. She didn't even try to deduce when the holes to her left foot had been burned into the carpet or which acid had been responsible for it. Her whole attention was focused on John and the sounds that emerged from the kitchen. He was making tea... of course, he was making tea. John always needed tea when he was uncomfortable. And how couldn't he be uncomfortable after what he had learned about Sherlock's past?

 

A strained breath escaped past her lips as she clasped her hands together in her lap to stop them from trembling. It was only natural that John wouldn't want to be with her any longer. Who, in their right mind, would want to be with an ex-prostitute... even if the extent of the prostitution had merely been one blowjob?!

 

Sherlock pressed her lips into a thin line to prevent the humiliating sobs from emerging, even when they threatened to choke her as they formed a hot and painful lump in her throat. Damn Mycroft for ruining everything! If her meddling brother hadn't made these stupid comments, then John wouldn't... he would have learned about Sherlock's past from her mother.

 

A bitter smile pulled at her lips, when she imagined how delighted her mother would have been to destroy yet another one of Sherlock's relationships. At least, she would never get that chance again, since Sherlock was certain that she didn't want anyone besides John and if she couldn`t have him, then... Well, bees weren't picky about their company and maybe it would even be nice to spend her sunset years in solitude with only these fantastic animals as company. Only, Sherlock took a ragged breath, she had always imagined John and herself in a nice little cottage with a garden and beehives and...

 

"Your tea." Startled, Sherlock's head snapped up, when John placed two mugs on the table and a second later, she wished that she hadn't done it. Judging from John's intake of breath and how his face crumpled with worry, she hadn't been able to mask all her feelings. The heartbreak - yes, there was no other word for it - had to be written all over her face. She averted her gaze, although it was already too late for that. John wasn't as observant as she was - not by far - but he wasn't stupid either, especially not when it came to emotions.

 

"Sherlock." She didn't look in his direction, when the couch dipped with John's weight and she forced herself not to react in any way, when a gentle hand was placed on her bare shoulders. Of course, John would want to comfort her. Caring was one of his many good qualities and he wouldn't be able to break it off with her, if he thought that Sherlock was already too upset to handle it. Not that she would ever be able to handle the loss of the love of her life and the most amazing human being she had ever known. But still, if she was able to manipulate John into staying with her for only one more week, then... No, Sherlock pushed that thought away, it would only postpone the inevitable break up and it would leave them both with bad memories of their time together. At least, when John thought of her in the future, he should be able to recall good memories and not ones of a forced amount of time spent together out of a sense of duty. She took a deep breath and turned her head back in John's general direction, but avoided meeting his gaze and instead kept her eyes focused on his woolen clad legs.

 

"I'm so sorry," John murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "If only I had known beforehand..."

 

A bitter laugh escaped Sherlock's lips at that. "Of course, you wouldn't even have started anything with me and we could have stayed friends." She had intended her tone to be mocking, but she was unable to control how her voice cracked at the last words. Certainly, they wouldn't even be able to stay friends after everything that had happened between them. John wouldn't only leave her, but Bakerstreet as well. He would start dating again and end up with a nice woman - or man - and settle down to raise children with them. While Sherlock would be on her own once more. Maybe, some criminal would be clever enough to end her miserable existence, before she became desperate enough to start using again.

 

"Sherlock," John's voice sounded soothing and Sherlock hated herself for leaning into his touch, when he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her against his body, until she was able to feel the warmth radiating off of him. "Why should I have decided against becoming your boyfriend, if I had known about your mother beforehand?" 

 

John sounded truly puzzled and somehow Sherlock found the strength in herself to role her eyes at this stupid question, although she felt like something in her was dying with every minute that brought her closer to the final goodbye to John.

 

"I'm not talking about my mother, I mean... God, John, do you really need me to put it into words?!" The hand on her shoulder squeezed lightly and warm lips were pressed to her temporal bone as John sighed quietly. "Yes, I fear that you have to put your thoughts into words, since I have the feeling that we are talking at cross-purposes right now. For example, why do you think that I would leave you?"

 

Sherlock blinked slowly at that. There were exactly two logical explanations for John's question and his bewildered voice. Either he didn't want to leave her or he wanted her to put all her failures into words herself. The latter was rather cruel and John usually wasn't a cruel man, therefore only the first option appeared to be the correct one, but Sherlock didn't want to get her hopes up. After all, there were more points for John leaving than for John staying.

 

"No one wants to be together with a prostitute," she almost whispered, but from the intake of breath next to her, Sherlock knew that John had still heard her. She pressed her head against his shoulder, trying to absorb as much of his warmth as possible, before it was all over. Sadly, it didn't take John more than five seconds to drew back and shove her away with his hands on her shoulders.

 

"Sherlock, look at me!"

 

John's voice was commanding and pleading all at once and Sherlock had no other chance but to meet his deeply worried eyes. "I`m not going to leave you. No matter what has happened in your past, but if you want to talk about it..."

 

A sarcastic laugh - that sounded more like a sob - tumbled from Sherlock's lips. "There is not much to tell you. I ran away from home. A stranger gave me a room to stay for a couple of nights in exchange for a... blowjob. Then my father found me and brought me back home."

 

Sherlock waited for John to revise his former statement and to tell her that he had changed his mind, that he couldn't stay with her. Instead, his shoulders sacked in relief. "Thank God, I thought... I feared that it was far worse. Not that this isn't already bad," John hurried to add. "But it could have been even... worse," he finished lamely and Sherlock almost smiled at John's lack of eloquence. Almost, because she wasn't sure yet if there was a reason to smile, but a tentative seed of hope started blooming in her chest once more and she found herself unable to squash it.

 

"It would have been worse, if... my father hadn't found me, when he did," Sherlock admitted quietly. "I didn't know where to go and I didn't want to go back home and therefore..."

 

"You thought it better to sell your body than to go home to your own mother, fucking hell!" There wasn't any hint of accusation in John's tone, only protectiveness and anger were swinging in his voice and Sherlock relaxed a little at that. "Yes, it appeared the more beneficial solution at that time."

 

A grimace passed over John's features and Sherlock wasn't certain if he was about to cry or smash every piece of furniture in their flat. "How old were you?"

 

"Sixteen."

 

Now, John certainly looked like he was about to kill someone, but his hands on Sherlock's shoulders didn't tighten their hold, even as John's whole body seemed to vibrate with the lust to kill. "I wish I had known what your mother did - and drove you to do. I would have never... Mycroft could have sent me thousands of bills and I wouldn't have agreed to visiting your parents. That son of a bitch," John muttered under his breath and Sherlock's lips twitched at the insult. "How dare he forcing you to visit your parents, after everything that has happened. He acted like it didn't matter at all."

 

Something clicked into place in Sherlock's mind at the phrasing and her eyes widened momentarily as she stared at John. "That was what you meant! When you said of course it matters," Sherlock added, when John frowned slightly at her. "You were referring to the incident with my mother."

 

John's face cleared a little at that, but he still appeared bewildered. "Yes, of course, I did, what did you think... Oh no, Sherlock!" John's eyes widened in sudden understanding and he shook his head vehemently, gripping Sherlock's shoulders tighter in the process. "I would never leave you, because you had to go through such a horrible ordeal in your past. Never! It doesn't matter how many blowjobs you have given and for what reasons. I'm only grateful that you didn't catch anything and... I always feared that something like that might have happened while you had been using."

 

It took Sherlock's mind a while to process John's words. Most importantly, John wasn't going to leave him. Sherlock felt the pressure in her chest loosen at that realisation. Secondly, John wouldn't hold her past against her and he...

 

"Wait, you thought that I had sold my body at some point in my life and you still wanted to be with me?"

 

John merely shrugged at her. "It's not like that would have changed who you are... especially not who you are to me. As I said before, only death could keep me from your side."

 

It was one of the most sappiest declarations, John had ever made and Sherlock should be appalled by it. Instead, her breath hitched in her throat and a second later she had thrown her arms around John's neck and they ended up in a sprawl on the couch. 

 

"I love you," Sherlock whispered in a strained voice, as she hid her face in the crook of John's neck.

 

Strong arms held her closer to the warm body under her and soft lips breathed kisses on every part of skin they could reach. "I love you, too, Sherlock. No matter what."

 

No more words were spoken, while they stayed tightly embraced on the couch with their tea growing cold on the table.

 

OOO

 

Her neck was stiff.

 

Sherlock held in a groan and shifted on the couch to ease the pain that radiated from the cervical vertebra. It didn't help much, but at least - lying on her side with her back against the backrest of the couch - Sherlock had a better view of John's sleeping face.

 

Her boyfriend wasn't as relaxed when sleeping on the couch as he was, when sleeping in their bed. No real surprise there, Sherlock mused and cracked her own neck to ease some of the tension. Still, it was fascinating to note the minute changes in John's features, when he wasn't lying on their comfortable mattress. There were the lines around his lips for once, much more pronounced than usual, which spoke of grinded teeth and therefore of tension. Not bad enough as to wake John up, but bad enough to make the hours of sleep less restful than they would be otherwise. The tension was obviously caused by pain radiating from John's bad shoulder, due to the uncomfortable position he had managed to maneuver his body into, in his sleep.

 

A fond smile tucked at the corners of Sherlock's lips and she couldn't withstand the temptation to run her hands through John's short hair. Only to feel the difference between the soft texture of the blond strands and the harder texture of the few gray hairs, John called his own. Had the last hours added some to their numbers, Sherlock wondered and felt a pang in her chest. If John had been stressed after this morning's events, then it had solemnly been Sherlock's fault. After all, she had failed to recall how Mummy reacted to everything that didn't fit in her world view. And Sherlock had misunderstood John's intentions and believed that John was going to leave her.

 

It wouldn't have been a farfetched reaction from anyone else if they found out about her past, but Sherlock felt that she should have known that John wouldn't leave her. How often did John have to prove to Sherlock that he loved her, before her stupid - otherwise brilliant - mind was finally able to catch up with the information?

 

"I'll do it as often as necessary, but it's nice to hear that you believe me."

 

Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily - she hadn't realised that she had spoken her thoughts aloud - and met John's sleepy gaze. "Good morning, darling," John leaned on his side and pressed a brief kiss to Sherlock's lips, before he winced quietly.

 

"Your shoulder... You need some painkillers." Sherlock almost jumped off from the couch, in her eagerness to repay some of her debt to John for staying on the couch with her for hours. And she would have been successful in climbing over John and hurrying into the kitchen, if it hadn't been for a hand on her wrist that held her back. "I'm fine, Sherlock. It's not that bad, just a stiff neck and some muscle ache, nothing major."

 

Sherlock stayed, but she still shook her head at John's works. "You wouldn't be in any pain, if you hadn't staid here with me."

 

Light blue eyes pierced Sherlock's, even as John's fingers stroked Sherlock's cheek with tenderness. "Don't attempt to take the blame for my decision to sleep on the couch with you. I could have moved to the bed at anytime and I would have if..."

 

"John," Sherlock interrupted him, finding it necessary to point out one of her boyfriend's false assumptions. "It's not morning. It's mid afternoon, we only slept for about five hours."

 

John frowned slightly at that and glanced around the room, which was bathed in sunlight, before he shrugged. "Fine, but that's not really the point. I want you to know that I stayed with you, because I needed... I wanted to be close to you. It was... calming to hold you close, after... everything."

 

By the time, John had finished his little declaration, his face was flushed a deep shade of crimson and Sherlock feared that her blush was just as mortifying, judging from the heat that radiated from her face. Nevertheless, John's words soothed something deep inside her, an almost invisible ache, she hadn't been aware of until it was gone. "Thank you," she breathed, certain that John would understand what these two simple words entailed without her giving voice to it.

 

"You`re welcome." John underlined his words with another chaste kiss and then finally made to sit up. It took them a while to figure out which limb belonged to whom, before they were able to detangle themselves.

 

Sherlock grinned, when John's first movement was to reach for their mugs of tea - John loved tea - but her face turned serious when she spotted the items hanging from their mantelpiece, which hadn't been there before.

 

"What's that?" John inquired as he followed Sherlock's gaze and for once, she didn't reprimand him for asking obvious questions.

 

"Two tuxedos and a dark red dress, from the looks of it," Sherlock muttered and got up from the couch to have a closer view at the expensive clothes.

 

It was as she had suspected. The tuxedos were made of the finest wool and the dress was a dream made of silk. Sherlock didn't even have to look at the items that were placed on top of the mantelpiece to know that the fitting cufflinks, bow ties and jewelry had been provided as well. Her eyes lingered on the earrings for a second. They were golden, with a tear shaped ruby each as a pendant.

 

"Mycroft, correct?" John's voice sounded from behind Sherlock and she noted the anger that was still apparent, when he spoke of her elder brother.

 

"Yes, it's his way of apologizing," Sherlock murmured absently and fingered open an envelope that had been resting behind the tokens. It held a handwritten letter and something that felt suspiciously like tickets of some sorts.

 

Sherlock unfolded the letter and handed the envelope to John. Only a few lines were written on the expensive paper, but they were more personal than everything the siblings had said to each other in years.

 

Dear Sherlock,

I must apologize for my actions this morning. We should have spoken about this, before it could get this far. I understand why you don't want to see Mummy again, but Dad would love to meet you, if it's convenient for you. He knows about Dr. Watson and he would be thrilled to meet him.

Also, my apologizes for misgendering you, Sherlock. It was uncalled for and I hope you are aware that I accept your gender identity as a part of you.

Please accept my apology in the form of the two tickets for the highly celebrated Michiwa, Miyuuki, one of the world best's violinists.

Sincerely

Mycroft Holmes

P.S. I`m glad that nothing was broken between John and you.

 

"This fucking, cocky bastard," John swore, when Sherlock handed the letter to him.

 

"Actually," she admitted thoughtfully. "It's the most emotional letter, he has ever written. Especially, since Mycroft usually doesn't write letters, since they could be used as black mail material against him. He is truly sorry."

 

For a second, John looked at Sherlock like she had lost her mind, but then he shook his head and placed the letter on the table to retrieve the tickets from the envelop. "I guess, only a Holmes can read this letter like that, but if you can forgive him... can you?" Sherlock nodded at that. She was still miffed by Mycroft's actions and she would have been furious at him, if John had left her because of it, but as it was... Sherlock would be able to forgive her brother what had transpired between them this morning. "Mycroft has always stuck by me, when I told him about my sexuality and then about my gender identity. It's... Yes, I will be able to forgive him."

 

John merely nodded at that and Sherlock knew that he wouldn't have been so easily convinced, if he didn't have a sister himself. "So, we are going to the concert of Miss Michiwa, then?"

 

Sherlock nodded and a grin pulled at her lips, when she thought of her fantastic interpretations of classic works and the music pieces she had composed herself. At least, Mycroft knew how to get into Sherlock's good graces again.

 

"You know," John whispered as he placed the tickets on the table as well and then leaned up to press a kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I'm rather looking forward to it."

 

A frown creased Sherlock's forehead at that, although she returned John's gentle kiss with one of her own. "You are not a fan of the violin."

 

John shook his head, grinning and the next kiss was much more intense than their last one. "No, but I like showing you off to everyone. No matter if you are going to wear a tuxedo or a dress at this evening, you will be an eye-catcher... and I will make sure that everyone knows that you belong to me." A low, feral growl escaped Sherlock's lips at that and she attacked John's mouth aggressively, when his arms came up around her.

 

Somehow they managed to fall onto the couch without bumping into anything on their way and Sherlock didn't mind that they would probably spend the remainder of the day on this piece of furniture. No, she didn't mind at all.


End file.
